


Sand in My Shoes

by triggerswaggiehavoc



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Day At The Beach, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mild Language, Summer, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 08:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14281194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerswaggiehavoc/pseuds/triggerswaggiehavoc
Summary: You might not always think that sunscreen is what romance smells like. Most of the time, you're probably right.





	Sand in My Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer! for the sake of this story, josh is not from california. imagine he lives somewhere less exciting, like ohio

It’s that time of year again. Every summer since he was six, after classes have ended for the spring semester, Joshua goes to stay with his grandparents in Delaware for a few months. He doesn’t even know why they always make him go, and he’s definitely too old to need senior supervision all summer long anymore, but he does love his grandparents and he’s running out of summers before he’s a real world adult too busy to visit, so he doesn’t put up a fight about it. Besides, they live really close to the beach, so there’s not much more he can ask for.

Actually, they live close to two beaches—one that’s right in town, well within walking distance of their house, and another one that’s technically a state park. They have a pass to get into the park whenever they want without having to pay again and again, but the pass is a sticker on the car, and they don’t always want to go with Joshua to the beach, usually more content to fix things up around the house or work on the latest crocheting project, which leaves him biking over to the closer, smaller beach more often than not. As he ties his bike up on the rack just inches away from where the sand begins, he wonders how this is any different than being left at home by himself for a few months.

It likely has to do with just having company. Since his grandparents are both retired, they’re mostly at the house whenever he’s at the house, so he’s at least got someone to talk to even on days he doesn’t feel like leaving. At home, there isn’t as much to do—the semi-rural suburbs can only fit so many activities, and the bowling alley gets old fast—so he’d be cooped up inside most days. His grandparents would never let him get away with sitting on the couch playing Animal Crossing for seven hours; there’s something he could be doing around the house for sure.

Mostly, he does enjoy it. It’s nice to get a little sun in the summer months so everyone will tell him how cool he looks when classes start again, and it’s nice to breathe fresh air for a while, nice to be away from the same bunch of faces and the same map of streets and the same arrangement of furniture. It gives him a break from thinking about everything that’s been on his mind for the past couple months, and he usually needs one.

“Say,” his grandmother says one evening over a dinner of steamed vegetables and butter noodles, “have you been wanting to go to the boardwalk at all?”

“The boardwalk?” Joshua asks, prodding at a slice of carrot with his fork. “I mean, sure.”

He’s playing it down by a factor of ten at least. The boardwalk is one of his favorite places on earth, and if he’s being honest, he’d love to go every day. The boardwalk also isn’t that close because it’s in the next town over, so he can’t really go every day. Technically, it’s close enough to bike to, but it’s a pretty long ride, and Joshua’s grandparents don’t trust him quite enough to make it. Across the table, she smiles at him, and his grandfather returns a similar grin.

“Well,” she says, “we’ve got a lot of not-so-fun errands to run this Friday, so if you wanted to bike over there for the day, you can.”

“We trust you,” his grandfather promises, one thumb raised proudly in the air. “You’re old enough to take care of yourself.”

“Really?” He almost drops his fork. At twenty, he’s been old enough to take care of himself for a few years already, but that’s worth overlooking right now. Since he was in middle school, he’s been dreaming of going to the boardwalk all by himself, just having a day to spend doing whatever he wants with nobody around to tell him what he is and isn’t allowed to do. Middle school Joshua, of course, was too young and naïve and irresponsible to deserve such a privilege, but current Joshua has clearly proven that he isn’t, and the thought is tantalizing. He’ll finally buy one of those cups of fries he’s always wanted to try, or get one of those really tall ice cream cones he’s never allowed to have. Or maybe he’ll get a hermit crab. Or a shitty airbrushed shirt. The possibilities are endless, and he feels like he’s back in middle school already. “I definitely want to go.”

“We thought you would,” his grandfather says, laughing. “Just make sure you’re safe.” That’s code for ‘Ride back before dark.’ “And call us if anything happens.” That’s not code for anything.

“Totally,” Joshua says. “Absolutely.”

Thus, Joshua finds himself biking straight out of town on Friday morning, early enough that he’s hopeful to arrive by lunchtime. It’s hot out, cicadas screaming from the trees on all sides, but Joshua layered up on sunscreen before he left, and the breeze as he weaves over the paths out of town is refreshing enough to make him forget. Even before he’s gotten onto the real bulk of the ride, his legs are starting to feel it, but he knew already it would be a long trip. This is the freedom he’s been waiting for, and with that in mind, he takes the turn onto the path running alongside the highway.

The possibilities of what he can do today aren’t really endless, he knows, but they definitely feel it. There’s so much more to do at the boardwalk than sit and swim like he always does at the tiny beach in town, so many more people to meet and sights to see. It’s a little uncomfortable to be all by himself, but that discomfort pales in comparison to the notion that he could do anything and nobody would be able to stop him. He could eat a handful of sand if he wanted to. And he doesn’t want to, but the thrill is in knowing he could.

When he arrives, the noon sun is just about at its highest peak, and it shows in the way sweat drips from his hair to his shoulders, runs down his arms. All he brought in his backpack is sunscreen, his wallet, his phone, and a towel, and it’s all sticking to him through his shirt when he peels it off to grab his sunscreen and reapply. A rare cool breeze rolls in on the back of the next wave, and he closes his eyes to feel the way it washes over him, bike lock still clutched tight in his hands. He opens his eyes again, and the water spreading out far in front is blue and glittering, calm, inviting. It calls to him. So he walks down to swim.

Which is much easier said than done.

At the beach back by his grandparents’ house, the occupancy usually peaks around twenty people, maybe thirty if it’s really crazy, but the beach here is much larger and much more populated, crawling with hundreds of people at least. More than just accentuating his own loneliness, it also occurs to him that he has nowhere to leave his stuff if he decides to go for a swim. Generally, he likes to trust others to be good people, but on a beach filled with so many strangers, it’s hard to convince himself he can leave his things somewhere and expect to find them in perfect condition when he returns.

As a safe middle ground, he decides to go for a walk at the very edge of the water instead, close enough that he’ll get to feel the waves break up to his knees but far enough that the bag on his back stays away from any potential wetness. It drives him nuts to have to walk like this rather than just stay still, to have to stay tantalizingly near without diving into the water like he really wants to, but he sates himself with it because it’s still a little bit freeing. After a while of trekking aimlessly, his stomach grumbles at him in protest. He turns around to find the central mass of the boardwalk has become very small behind him and sighs, but sets off back in that same direction in search of lunch.

His grandparents have a favorite place they always like to go to eat at the boardwalk, and even though they’re not here to choose it, he still feels a compulsion to go. He’s worried about whether the staff will notice they’re not with him and talk to him about it, but if they do realize it, they say nothing. He orders the shop specialty, a variation on a calzone, and a root beer to go with it since there’s nobody who can tell him to drink water. As he tastes the sweetness of it on his lips, it finally sinks in that he can do whatever he wants, and he likes the taste.

Next stop is the arcade. Every game is rigged to be a losing one, but it’s still fun to walk in and pretend he has a chance of winning that iPod out of the machine where you stack up the little blocks or the plush Eevee out of the claw machine. Fortunately, he remembered to change out his dollar bills for plenty of quarters at the gas station yesterday, so he can play all the games he’s always wanted to try but hasn’t gotten to before, like the motorcycle racing one, which he’s very bad at, and Guitar Hero, which he’s also bad at. Unfortunately, he doesn’t win any of the games with prizes, nor does he rack up enough tickets at Skee-ball to buy anything cooler than a sticky hand. Arcade prize counters are only getting stingier—Inflation or something.

After the arcade, he wanders out into the early afternoon at a loss of what to do next. Most of the fun plans he had involved eating things he never gets to, and having just eaten lunch, he’s not quite in the mood yet. Everything else involves other money spending, which isn’t sounding so hot either considering the mass of quarters he just unloaded, and the only things to do aside from that are swim and browse stores. Having already established that swimming is impossible under his circumstances, he opts for a store crawl.

Beach trinkets are so tacky and useless, but he’s always thought there was something kind of nice about them. Whenever he goes to other places, he always buys something small with the name on it just to remember the place, but as he browses isles of decorated seashells and snow globes, it occurs to him that he doesn’t have anything from here. Maybe because he’s come so often, because this beach is so common to him that he could never forget it. He probably doesn’t need a souvenir, but the thought has him frustrated now, that sinking feeling he’s put one hanger backwards among the rest in the closet. None of the little baubles seem quite fitting, though, so he leaves without buying any.

Upon exit, he’s struck by the view in front of him. Just opposite, on the other corner bordering the broad walkway, he spies the dreamland of yore, a sacred place he’s never been allowed to go ever since he was little. It’s a wonder he didn’t realize it before, but now that he’s laid eyes on the pastel colors of the sign, the bright window displays, his feet walk forward on their own, and his mind is empty but for desire to go there: the candy store.

Inside, it’s so much cooler than every other shop on the boardwalk, likely to keep the candy from melting, but it only contributes to the illusion that this is some magical place completely separate from the regular world. It also smells sweet, which is to be expected, but it catches Joshua by surprise anyway, and he walks over to admire the array of candies in a dream. Peach rings, red stripes, gummy bears. He doesn’t even like most of it, but he’s in the mood to buy some now that he’s here.

Behind the fudge stand, something moves, and he turns his head to catch a glimpse. A skinny boy stands there—skinny young man, he guesses—in a white cap and pastel orange shirt behind a crisp apron. “Welcome,” he says. “Anything I can help you find?”

“Uh,” Joshua coughs, “I’m okay, I think.” The guy smiles back at him, and he’s cute. Very cute. Which equates to very dangerous. Maybe Joshua’s grandparents have actually been doing him a favor keeping him out of here.

“Alright,” the boy says back, still smiling. “Just let us know if we can help.”

As Joshua watches, the shop employee relieves himself from his position behind the fudge and disappears briefly around a corner. When he comes back, he has thick gloves on, and there’s a huge white blob in his hands. It certainly doesn’t look like any fudge Joshua has ever seen, and as he continues to stare, he sees that same worker rest it atop a huge hook he hadn’t yet noticed mounted on the wall. Slowly, he begins to pull.

Joshua stands fascinated, fully occupied watching this guy do whatever he’s doing. Every time he stretches the candy out over the hook, he loops it back around on itself and repeats the same thing again. Another employee stands attentive beside him, sprinkling small drops of liquid onto the candy as it’s pulled and turning it green, but the same one keeps up the grunt work all the while, over and over and over again until Joshua is dizzy. Under his shirtsleeves, his arm muscles tense with the movements, and he’s a lot more muscular than he seemed at first glance. Now Joshua is getting really dizzy.

Eventually, he heads to the cash register to wait for the other employee to come assist him.

“How can I help you, sir?” the man asks. Joshua points to where the hook is still being wrapped in loop after loop of candy.

“What’s he doing?” he asks. The staff member turns around to check like he doesn’t already know.

“Oh, him? He’s pulling the taffy.” He smiles. “Our big selling point is our hand-pulled saltwater taffy.” As he says it, he taps at a relatively large decal sticker on the counter reading just that and points to a much larger replica of the same message stuck to the window. Joshua whistles.

“How long does he have to do that for?”

“Depends,” the clerk says. “We usually just work toward the right color, but it does take a while.” They stand there for a minute or two watching together as the color lightens to a more pastel shade of green. A few more pulls, and the taffy is removed and hauled to a table at the back of the shop, then put into a big machine. Time feels like it’s not moving at all, and when Joshua looks over to ask something else, he finds the shop employee has disappeared.

Abandoned, he decides to take a trek over to the small taffy display at the opposite corner of the shop. Despite being the store’s claim to fame, there’s not very much taffy at all, and what is there is pretty expensive, though Joshua guesses that makes sense if it’s all pulled by hand instead of with a machine. He picks up one of the smaller bags, an assortment, and he tells himself that the employee’s arms are not what have him set on buying it. At least, he tries to tell himself that.

It’s that same employee again who waits by the register when Joshua wanders over with his small candy bag. His smile is sweet, warm enough to melt the two of them back into the reality outside, and he leans on the counter with one elbow while he waits for Joshua to approach.

“Some of our world famous taffy?” he asks, stressing the _world famous_ just enough to make sure Joshua knows he isn’t serious.

“Yeah,” Joshua says, very intelligently. He tries not to gulp, but the arms are right there, and he can still kind of see the muscles on them. “I heard it’s all hand-pulled.”

“That it is.”

They look at each other for a while, and rather than thinking this has turned into yet another awkward social encounter, Joshua knows he’s supposed to say something. He knows he has to say it quick, too, and it has to be something funny or interesting. Or flirty. Is this flirting? Is this the right time to do it? Maybe. Unsupervised, all the power is rushing to his head, and he’s starting to forget which way is up anymore.

“Do you pull all of it yourself?” is what he asks. It’s not that great, maybe, but functional enough. The guy doesn’t stop smiling, which is a good sign.

“Not all of it,” he says. “There’s another guy who does it when I’m off.” He plucks the bag gently from Joshua’s hand and scans it. “He usually gets a lot more done than I do.”

“When you’re off?” Joshua hands over the money, and he doesn’t avert his eyes from the boy’s face while his change is counted. Somehow, he’s scared to blink. “When is that?”

Handing the bag back to Joshua alongside a receipt, he glances at his watch. Joshua’s always liked the look of a watch, the way it seems to draw the arm to a close. “Half an hour,” the guy tells him. “You have anywhere to be?”

Joshua takes a look out the window. The world out there is so different, so foreign after such a short time inside this shop, but it doesn’t look like it’s anywhere close to getting dark yet. “No,” he says. “I don’t have anywhere to be.” Across from him, the guys keeps grinning.

“Then I’ll see you in half an hour.”

 

Half an hour later, he meets up with Joshua a few stores down, already changed out of his uniform and into swim trunks and a shirt with no sleeves. His hat is gone, too, likely shoved in the drawstring bag on his back, and as he strides up to Joshua, he smiles, hair flushing brown to bronze in the afternoon sun. Gold shines all over on his skin, and _god_ , those arms. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Joshua echoes. He thinks about tacking the guy’s name on the end, but he realizes he doesn’t know it, so his mouth is left hanging open awkwardly. What is he even doing? What is this right now? The taffy in his bag has probably already started melting.

“I’m Minghao,” his new companion says, extending a hand. His eyes twinkle like the farthest reaches of the sea, a mesmerizing line of shimmer that doesn’t end. “And you are?”

“Joshua.” Minghao hums.

“Alright, Joshua. What are you in the mood for?”

Expectedly, the boardwalk is a lot more fun with two people than just one. Minghao goes with him to get one of the fry buckets, and he even pays for it for them to split. It’s probably not normal to have a total, absolute stranger pay for something for you, but Joshua wouldn’t really know, because he’s never hung out with one before. Or maybe this isn’t just hanging out. How is he supposed to know? If it’s a date with someone he’s never met before, it’s yet another first.

“Have you ever been on the Haunted Mansion ride at Playland?” Minghao asks as they walk slowly down the strip of stores facing the shore. A bit farther down in front of them, the sign is looming, just barely high enough to distinguish itself.

“No,” Joshua tells him around a mouthful of fry. All that’s left in their little bucket now is small, charred bits that don’t quite count. “I’ve never actually gotten to go to Playland.”

“And you’ve been here how many times?” Minghao barks. “Like, ten times every year since you were born?”

“Get off my back,” Joshua groans. “I was just never allowed to go.”

“Well, you’re allowed to go now, right?” When he looks at Minghao, the sun is behind him, a glowing halo around his whole body. He wishes it wouldn’t set. “Do you want to?”

“I mean…” Minghao watches him carefully, watches his lips, and _yes_ is such a simple word, but it feels very complex stuck in his throat right now. It’s taking too long for him to say it, so Minghao stops waiting. He threads his fingers through Joshua’s and tugs him along. As they walk, Joshua thinks his palm is made of nothing but lava.

 

With the day having faded out of late afternoon and into early evening, the line for the Haunted Mansion ride is decently long, as well as all the rides for the other rides worth trying out for people older than nine, but Minghao insists they save it for last and leads them to the swinging boat ride instead. According to him, it’s the cream of the crop, the peak of all entertainment to be had at this boardwalk, and they have to do it last out of respect. Surely it can’t be that great, but Joshua lets him have his way because he just feels like he should.

They ride the swinging boat and the drop tower and even a sort of carousel before finally hopping in the back of the Haunted Mansion line. Nothing so far has been all that fun, but Minghao acts like it is, so Joshua’s brain is being tricked into it. Halfway through the queue, though, he notices how far the shadows are starting to fall around them, how reddish-orange the light is getting, and he gulps. Minghao throws a glance at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing.” Technically, they didn’t actually say anything about coming home before dark. Also technically, they know Joshua understood the connotations. Minghao elbows him in the forearm.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “Sure you’re not, like, totally scared?”

“Yeah, you got me,” Joshua sighs, gesturing to the foam bats emerging from the wall, their paint skin peeling off. “I’m really quaking in fear over here.”

“I knew it,” Minghao hums. “Don’t worry. I’ll hold your hand for the scary parts.”

Joshua opens his mouth. This is another opportunity to say something, something clever or flirty or charming, but Joshua’s legs hurt too much from standing all day to walk right into this open door. “Thanks,” he says, and Minghao doesn’t say another word for a full minute. When the silence passes, he starts laughing, light and giggly. It’s a nice sound that balances out the top forty hits eking out of the radio and the screaming children in the drop tower. Something about it is reminiscent of the waves.

“You’re a weird guy,” he says, “but I guess there are worse things to be.” The smile glitters in his eyes, and Joshua wants to say something else, but he doesn’t want to ruin it. He doesn’t know what else to say either, so he just seals his lips and keeps waiting for them to reach the front of the line.

It’s one of those rides where you sit in sort of a bench and let your feet dangle, and the only thing protecting you from certain death is a big metal bar that latches across both laps. Normally, this seating arrangement does not make Joshua feel all too comfortable, especially given how roomy the seat is due to Minghao being so thin, but this ride doesn’t seem like it could possibly move that fast, so for now, he isn’t worried about it. What does worry him is the occasional shrill screech from inside the recesses of the dark chambers where the ride actually takes place.

“Get ready,” Minghao says when their buckle has been clasped and barely tested by an unenthusiastic employee. “You’re gonna love this.”

“After that wait, I better.”

When the ride takes off, it’s even slower than Joshua expects it to be. They creep slowly into darkness, and as much as Joshua expects it to pick up speed, it doesn’t. All the screams he was hearing must have been from very small children or very dramatic adults, because the only thing worth screaming over on this ride is the odd jump scare, and Joshua sees every single one long before it jumps out to scare him.

“You were actually fucking with me this whole time, huh?” Joshua asks after a fake monster arm drags slowly down through the air beside them. The recording of the monster’s groan starts a beat too late, like the ride is slowly forgetting how to be scary. Minghao shifts in his seat, and his knee bumps Joshua’s.

“What do you mean?”

“You know. This ride sucks.”

“You think?” Minghao hums. “Maybe it’s just the nostalgic value, then. Little kids like it, anyway.” There’s a beat of silence, then another arm lunges gradually out at them. Minghao hums. “It’s also popular with the youth. As a make-out spot.”

Joshua doesn’t know whether he should laugh at the way Minghao refers to _the youth_ like he’s an old man or whether he should stop breathing. His body tries to do both. _Is he going to kiss me?_ is the only thought his brain will formulate, and it stops there, too, just short of knowing whether that would be a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe it would be good, but maybe it would be a disaster. Definitely another first, at the very least.

“The in-ride picture is coming up,” Minghao says next, and Joshua is yanked back to the real present, the dark around them. “It’s after the next corner.”

“How many times have you ridden this?”

“Many. Is that judgement I hear?”

“Of course not.”

“Sure.”

Many, he says. Many. And he also says it’s a popular kissing spot for young people. And he is a young person. Joshua doesn’t particularly want to draw the line between all these dots, but they’re so close together, and it’s so easy. Another faux groan comes seconds too late.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Minghao says, voice low. “Stop thinking it.”

“You have no idea what I’m thinking.”

“I don’t lure random guys in here to make out with them,” he says. “I’m a normal person, not a complete weirdo.” Joshua hums.

“Maybe so, but I wouldn’t know that.”

“Guess that’s fair.” He shifts closer, until his whole arm is pressed against Joshua’s. God. The muscles. “Get ready for the picture.”

“Are we posing?”

“Up to you.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just do whatever you want to do. It’s only a picture.”

“Yeah, but still. Maybe we can make the same face or something.” Wordlessly, Minghao’s arm slides around his shoulders, an oppressive band of warmth that falls gentle across his back. He feels the muscles on that arm and the way they move beneath the skin, and it’s dyeing him red. “Hey, come on—”

Flash. Tiny stars burst in Joshua’s vision, little spots of color dancing everywhere over the stark black surrounding them. Minghao’s arm is off him again almost immediately, and then their seat is teetering back outside to the loading dock. The same employee who buckled them in lets them out and tells them without smiling to have a great rest of the day, and then they’re gone, passing by a very long line of people about to be equally disappointed by the least exciting ride at the boardwalk.

“Do you want to go look at the picture?”

“No way,” Joshua huffs. “I was talking. It probably looks stupid.”

“Ah, come on. I bet it’s cute.” Joshua is an easy person to convince.

The little stall isn’t very far from the ride itself, and a crowd of other patrons waits patiently for the chance to purchase their own memory.  The screens above the counter display the pictures one by one in chronological order, and Joshua waits anxiously for theirs to show up. Every time he thinks it’s showing the people right in front of them, he turns out to be wrong, and it makes his insides feel like they’re falling apart. He just wants to get it over with.

At long last, it clicks onto the screen, and he stands torn. It’s not so bad. He, of course, does not look ready; his lips are parted, eyebrows furrowed, head turned ever so slightly in Minghao’s direction. Minghao, on the other hand, looks very comfortable. His smile is easy, bright, and his free hand even flashes a tacky peace sign. His other hand holds onto Joshua’s shoulder much more tightly than he remembers from just minutes ago, and seeing it makes Joshua’s cheeks impossibly warmer in the evening heat.

“Hey, it’s not bad,” Minghao whistles. “We even look like we know each other.” That’s a good thing, Joshua guesses, because under normal circumstances, they should know each other. A second later, Minghao is stepping up to the counter amid the fray of other riders.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is almost too soft to hear. “I want two copies of the one that was just on the screen… Uh, yeah. Three-forty-one? Yeah.” Joshua watches him pull some money out of his wallet and wait for the attendant to hand him two shiny decorative envelopes. Minghao smiles on his way back. “What now?” he asks.

“Did you buy the picture?”

“Yes,” he says plainly. “So what now?” Joshua turns around to lead them out of Playland, and the first thing that catches his eye is the glowing sign of the ice cream shop. The way white light glints off high swirling cones of vanilla is so enchanting, and before Joshua can even mention it, Minghao is leading the way there.

Joshua pays for the ice cream because Minghao paid for the rides and he’s starting to feel bad about not paying for any of his own things, and Minghao happily lets him. Two large cones in hand, they take the wooden steps down to the beach and wander across the sand, toward a less crowded patch. As Joshua gazes out at the stained water breaking in muted waves on the shore, he realizes for the first time how dark the sky has gotten since they went on that ride. No chance of a safe ride back now.

“Fuck,” he says.

“What?” Minghao looks at him with curious eyes and raised brows. “Not as tasty as you thought it would be?”

“It’s not the ice cream,” Joshua sighs. He watches a single drop slide down the side of the cone and onto his knuckle before moving to lick it off. “I was supposed to leave before dark.”

“Why? Are you gonna turn into an ogre or something?”

“Yep.” Minghao’s laugh is quiet, but it carries long after the sound is gone. “And also I rode my bike here, so I have to ride it back, and I needed to leave while I could still see.”

“That’s less fun than the ogre thing,” Minghao muses. He licks slowly around the side of his ice cream, careful not to let any of it drip past the edge and onto his fingers. “How far do you have to go?”

“Just the next town over,” Joshua says, “but, you know. Any distance is bad if it’s nighttime.”

“I can give you a ride, then, if it’s not that far.”

“Really?”

“It’s my fault you can’t ride back,” he hums, “since I made you ride Haunted Mansion.”

“I guess that’s true.” Joshua nibbles some more at his ice cream and watches the pink fade out of the clouds far above them. “But I’m not so sure. You could still be an axe murderer for all I know.”

“You’re being pretty nice considering you think I’m going to murder you.”

“Duh. I’m hoping that if I’m nice to you, you’ll decide not to murder me.”

“Very smart,” Minghao says, “but that would have been a bad idea to tell me if I _were_ a murderer, because now I know your strategy, and now I’m thinking all the fun we had together earlier was fake, which upsets me, and my axe is starting to look very tempting.”

“It was real, though,” Joshua amends softly. He tastes the vanilla flavor thick on his tongue while he watches the sea melt through a whole spectrum of shades before them. “I had a lot of fun today.”

“That so?” Minghao leans closer, and now their shoulders are touching. It feels like a star.

“Yeah. I never get to come by myself, but today I did, and I was so excited until I realized the boardwalk isn’t that much fun when you’re alone.”

“Wow.” Minghao exhales a small breath. “Good thing you came in to get some taffy, huh?” Joshua laughs, quiet beneath the sound of chattering beachgoers around them.

“I always wanted to go into the candy store since I never get to,” he says. “I didn’t even know you sold taffy.”

“Have you tried it yet?”

“Not yet.” Joshua swings his bag around front and starts digging through with one hand, trying in vain to keep ice cream from dripping onto the fabric. “It’s probably all melted by now.”

“It holds up better than you think,” Minghao assures him. “Let me hold your ice cream so you can find it. I want you to try some.”

Gingerly, Joshua transfers his cone to Minghao’s hand and begins a more earnest search through his bag. His fingers are still a little sticky, and everything else keeps getting in the way, but eventually, he wraps his fist around the small plastic bag and pulls it out. True to Minghao’s promise, it’s not entirely melted, but it is much softer than it had been hours earlier when Joshua bought it. He plucks the first candy off the top and pries it from its wax wrapper carefully, then pops it into his mouth.

The flavor is strawberry. It’s stronger than the pale pink color suggests, and it makes him strangely nostalgic, makes him wonder when the last time he had a real strawberry was. Probably a while ago, long before he came up for the summer. The taste is different than he remembers but also the same, sweet but not overbearing, fresh and lingering. He savors it while he chews, candy soft against his teeth, and looks out over the sprawling indigo ocean. Deep in his chest, he feels a little more whole.

“How is it?” Minghao asks him. “Good, right?”

“It’s really good,” Joshua tells him, thumbing absently at the edge of the bag, “but I don’t know if all taffy is this good or if it’s just these.”

“Well, it’s all pretty good,” Minghao says, eyeing the sky and the stars that slowly begin to make their appearance, “and I’m sort of paid to say this, but really, ours is the best.” He smiles, and he blends into the night sky perfectly. “It’s special.”

“I guess I get that,” Joshua says, taking his ice cream back. He leans forward to eat a bit more, but Minghao stops him with a hand on his shoulder, warm as the bed of sand below them.

“Could I kiss you?” he asks.

“If you want to have some of the taffy, I can give you a piece.” So now he’s got the fun, flirty things to say. Minghao laughs a little harder than he deserves, but Joshua has also missed every other opening so far today, so he lets him. Minghao leans in a little closer when his chuckles fade into the air, props himself up on his free arm, and the muscles tense. Joshua has no choice but to look at them again and gulp. Those are strong arms. Candy-pulling arms.

“Not like that,” Minghao tells him. “I can taste the taffy whenever I want, you know.” His chin tilts a little to the side, and he looks cute. “I was just thinking I wanted to kiss you.”

“Do you kiss every boy who comes in to buy taffy?” Joshua whispers, barely audible over the hum of voices surrounding them and the quiet rhythm of breaking waves.

“You would be the first,” Minghao mumbles. As he leans in further, further, and lets their lips press gently together, Joshua thinks, _It’s the same for me_. The sky above them is still and the beach around them silent. Everything tastes like candy.

 

The drive home is short, Joshua’s bike fit awkwardly in the back seat of Minghao’s car, and they don’t do much talking on the way. Mostly, they let the radio play, soft tunes wafting across the air that go in and out with patches of static until they pull up in front of Joshua’s grandparents’ house. His phone died hours ago, and he knows he’s in for a stern talking to when he gets inside, so he sits with his hand hovering over the buckle trying to decide whether it was worth it. A shiny envelope comes to rest on his lap after a moment.

“For you,” Minghao tells him. “For the memories.”

“Thanks,” Joshua says, looking down at the card in awe. “A lot. I mean… I really had fun today.”

“So did I.” Minghao looks soft when Joshua looks at him, like oil pastels smudged into the shape of a person. A very warm and handsome person. “Enjoy your candy. Come back and get some more when you run out.”

Joshua watches Minghao disappear down the road from the porch, still wary of going inside to meet that waiting light, those waiting stares, their waiting questions. When Minghao is gone, he takes a look at their in-ride picture, turning it over slowly in his hands so all of it catches the dim porch light, and when he turns it over to the back, he spots a chain of numbers. Long enough to be a phone number, hastily scrawled but still legible. Beneath it is doodled a small smiley face, and the sight of it makes Joshua grin in return.

What a fitting souvenir; maybe it doesn’t have to be the only one. He’s still got a little time.

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello hello!! happy april and thank you for reading! this month has been kind of crazy already but i really wanted to get this out and i'm still trying to get more things out so please don't give up on me!! i had this idea a while ago, and now i've finally gotten to write it, thus completing the 97z x josh summer series that someone accused me of writing once, and they were totally right, i just didn't realize it because i am a moron. i hope you liked this!! i know it's not the best or anything but i still really hope you can enjoy it because the setting is one that i really really enjoyed writing... also shuahao is a great ship and it needs to be slept on so much less like we as a society are failing... but yeah! thanks so much for reading, and i really do hope you liked it! feedback is greatly appreciated!! see you!
> 
> p.s. if you're reading this and you love to bookmark peoples fics and just absolutely tear them apart in chinese... step to me. if your shit's that hot, say it with your chest. nobody is too stupid to gather that you're talking shit. if you really need to be negative, i suggest acquainting yourself with the private bookmark feature


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